


Devastation and Ruin

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Series: Infinity War Fix It [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 04:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14537070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: He'd lost himagain.





	Devastation and Ruin

He'd lost him _again._

Steve Rogers should have known better than to think he could get some kind of a happily ever after. It had been amazing for Shuri to call him and tell him that the triggers were gone, that the Hydra influences were definitely out. Bucky was recuperating in Wakanda, working on a farm and taking part in a water tribe's family events. He was healing, becoming more and more of himself again. Just as Wanda and Vision would sneak about to take time with each other, he snuck away from the team to visit Wakanda. Natasha and Sam rolled their eyes at him, he was really terrible about fooling anyone, but they gave him the illusion of privacy. "Just tell us when you're ready to come home and we'll run interference," Sam had laughed.

Home had been anywhere the three of them could hide; Wanda half the time used her magic to stay all but invisible and off the radar. She did hand to hand training with them, she followed their lead on where to go around the world, but she didn't often actually stay with them if they were on the ground. Steve didn't exactly blame her when the entire world was out to get them. They were too visible, too well known. Even growing out a beard and Natasha dyeing her signature hair blonde didn't lessen the risk enough.

Bucky was content on the farm. Shuri had made a new arm, tested the cybernetic connections, and had laughed at his surprise over its light weight and strength. "Vibranium, Bucky," she told him. "Strong and malleable, and capable of doing amazing things."

He had looked at Steve as he closed the box over the arm. "Thanks, really," he told her. "But I think I'll stay as I am for now. I'm not ready for that. Even in a different color, I still know why it's there, and I can't be a weapon right now."

"I changed the color to make it obviously not a Hydra design," she had said in understanding, taking back the case. "Whenever you are ready, let me know. I can always tinker with it and design something better, or an organic image overlay..."

"Don't get too excited," Bucky had laughed, shaking his head. "You have plenty of design opportunities with your brother."

"Bah. He likes his one suit and never changes anything in the design. He's so boring that way!" It had sounded so incongruous, Steve had to laugh right along with her and Bucky. "I can design something for you!" she crowed, turning to face Steve. "I can build a new shield for you, whether of vibranium or energy-"

"You know, I think I'm done with the shield for now," Steve had told her, shaking his head. "The world isn't quite ready for me with a shield again."

Shuri rolled her eyes like the irreverent teenager she was. "The world doesn't know what it needs. Most of the people in it are simple and don't like to think. Me, I like to think and continue to think." She shooed the both of them out of her lab. "Go, then. Take in the sunshine and fresh air and relax. I will think of something to keep me busy."

Steve had been so grateful for the royal family and their efforts to help Bucky and to understand how much pain there had been in their lives. "All we can do is try to be good men," he'd told T'Challa, and the king had agreed.

And now, all around him was devastation and ruin, fire and dust and the wails of those calling for the dead.

All he could do was look around him, at the damage and debris, the pain in everyone's hearts. Bucky had reached out for him, _"Steve,"_ and crumbled to dust where he stood. Steve didn't even know where Sam was, he had to be around somewhere, but Steve couldn't bring himself to move. This had been Bucky's chance to recover and grow, to learn about this century on his own terms, to be _Bucky_ again and not a weapon.

Why couldn't it have been Steve? What did he have now? A fractured set of allies, defeat and the knowledge that _once again,_ he hadn't been good enough or strong enough to save the world from a megalomaniac bent on destroying it.

"What do we do now?" Natasha asked, her voice a ragged and broken thing. She sounded as devastated as he did.

"I don't know," he whispered. He had always wanted to save people, prevent the bullies from going too far, do the right thing.

So why did nothing ever work out for him?

***

Steve woke screaming.

His nightmares were of Bucky falling from the train, getting up and reaching for him, then dissolving into dust. _Steve,_ he would say, accusation in his eyes. _Why can't you stop this?_

He wasn't the only one with nightmares, but that didn't give him any comfort. The day's tally of the dead and the missing was high, too high, and all he could think of was that he hadn't been enough. Everything had fallen to ruin, and he hadn't been strong enough to prevent Thanos from winning. He'd had that fucking gauntlet in his hands, had pushed back, had kept him from using it for a time. He should have kept his feet grounded and planted harder, shouldn't have moved when he had been punched, should have gotten back up and hit back, _something._

In Sokovia, he had told the rest of the Avengers that if they died, they should just walk it off. What arrogance that was. How could he have done that? How do you walk off being turned to ashes?

Lunging from the bed, he ran to the attached bathroom to throw up. There was nothing but bile, but he continued to heave and retch until there were tears in his eyes. "God, Bucky, I'm sorry," he whispered to the empty bathroom when he collapsed on the floor. The porcelain of the tub was cold against his bare back, but he deserved that, didn't he? That he survived was cruel, to watch it happen _again_ was the utmost torture. He had just wanted to do the right thing and do good. Why was this pain his reward for that?

Wiping away his tears, he eventually staggered to his feet and left the room in nothing but the sleep pants he was wearing. The bruises were all gone and the cuts mostly healed. It didn't seem fair at all, and that circled in his mind like a hideous mantra.

Steve ran into Shuri on one of the balconies, and it looked like she had been crying, too. Among the missing and dead was her brother, leaving the country again without a king. Her mother had survived as well, and the wailing had been chilling. To lose a husband and then her son twice in the span of two years, with nothing to bury either time, that was also cruel. Shuri had always been sprightly and unfailingly positive, working through her grief as Steve used to be able to do. Now they both were cast adrift, and he didn't even know where to begin to start over.

"We're all saying we're sorry for each others' losses," Shuri told him when he opened his mouth but couldn't speak. "And we all know how useless it is, don't we?"

"I've lost him. Again."

She gave him a watery, pained smile. "Me, too."

"There's no getting over that, nothing to make that go away."

"Maybe we shouldn't want it to," she said, voice wobbly and eyes shining in the starlight. "Because that would mean we forget, and we can't do that."

A chill ran through Steve and goose bumps prickled his arms despite the heat. It felt like plunging into the ice all over again, saving millions while his own heart was shredding, denying himself any chance to be happy because he simply hadn't been good enough. "I don't know what should come next. I spent the past two years on the run, and it doesn't matter anymore."

"There is no running. I've done that, when we thought my brother died the first time," Shuri choked out, looking out over the landscape. "There is survival, but there is _survival,_ feeling _alive._ I don't feel that," she admitted, looking back at Steve with tears in her eyes. "I fix things. I improve them. I keep moving." A tear trailed down her cheek and she wiped it away hastily. "There is nothing for me to fix now, is there?"

Steve pulled her into a hug. "Your country, for starters. And the rest of the world, after."

Shuri let out a sob and clung to Steve. "But... I don't _want_ to! I didn't want to rule! I want my lab and my brother and my father and-"

He tightened his hold on her as she cried in earnest. She had been stoic earlier when assisting everyone from the battlefield into the palace, when coming up with the algorhythms to track the dead. Likely all the grief was hitting her now, when there was nothing else to distract her, nothing else for her to do other than think about it.

"Sometimes it's not about what we want, though," Steve murmured. "It's about what's right. It's about saving whoever we can and making it better. Building something up out of the ruins."

She pulled back without meeting his eyes and rubbed away her tears. "I always build things, but..."

"So you build."

Looking up at him with a sad expression, Shuri tilted her head to take in his own devastation. "What about you?"

What about him? He'd never really considered any of that. He'd never had to before, and he still didn't know. His entire life had been one war after another. "I really don't know."

"I think it's time for you to build, too. Bucky was doing that, and you never had a chance to. You could have stayed here, you know. With him. Built a life here, too."

Regret tugged hard at him, and Steve could only nod. "Maybe. But the others..."

"You'll fight for them, but not for yourself," Shuri said sadly. She sniffled and swiped at her eyes again. "Well, we have too many of those left around here, so I think you'll fit in nicely."

Steve blinked at her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you all have a place here. Because we're going to rebuild, and we're going to help the world rebuild. It was my brother's vision for Wakanda, and I'm going to make sure it happens."

There was steel in her voice, and far more maturity than should have been placed on her sixteen year old shoulders. Steve let out a slow breath as he nodded. "For T'Challa and all of the fallen."

"And for us," Shuri reminded him gently. "We still have the living, and it's for them that we're going to build up the world again."


End file.
